


little boy afraid

by cheekaspbrak



Series: i cannot help it if i'm hard to love [1]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecure Richie Tozier, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misrepresentation of Richie’s parents in general, Self-Acceptance, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, cursing, maggie is awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-10 22:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekaspbrak/pseuds/cheekaspbrak
Summary: Who is Richie Tozier? It depends on who you ask.ORRichie Tozier makes the wrong choices and winds up in the Bowers gang. Somewhere along the way, he gets twisted up with Eddie Kaspbrak and The Losers Club, who show him what true love and acceptance feels like.





	1. his motives are dead wrong

**Author's Note:**

> The story title and chapter titles are lyrics from "Boy Afraid" by Saro. There will be more chapters of this, maybe today, maybe months from now, who knows?

Richie thinks he was probably always meant to be a rotten egg. Life didn’t exactly deal him a good hand to begin with. He started off with a couple of no-good parents that turned him into the rambunctious, loud, insensitive teenager he is. He thinks that maybe if he tried hard enough, he could work on himself and break the cycle. Richie is easily distracted, though, so that will remain an unfinished project. 

That’s how he ended up here, with his rotten egg friends who were also dealt a bad hand, Henry Bowers and Vic Criss. They had come up with a master plan to break into the school and spray paint on some poor kids locker for one reason or another. Richie feels like he is in a horror movie, with the cold night letting no light into the long hallway they are walking down. He pulls the flimsy flannel he had come in tighter around himself and rubs his arms. This is a bad idea, definitely, but he rationalizes it in his head by telling himself that there is almost no way they could get caught. The sun had set hours ago, and there is no sign of anyone in the school. The only other people there were Henry and Vic, stupidly laughing about their grand plan.

“What did this kid do to you again?” Richie asks, startled by the echo in the empty hallway. Henry looks back at him like he’s remembering for the first time they had brought him along. Richie kind of hates him and the face he makes as he rolls his eyes. Richie has always kind of hated him, but he and his friends are the only people who put up with him and his loud mouth as long as he puts up with their insane, borderline psychotic antics in return. 

“Does it fucking matter?” Henry retorts and earns a guffaw from Victor. 

“I’d like to know why I’m risking getting suspended, dumbass.” Richie is always toeing the line with comments like these. Henry and Vic usually laugh, but sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they push him up against the wall, teeth bared, threats pouring from their mouth. He doesn’t know why he keeps saying snarky jokes, it always gets him into trouble. He likes to test the waters and push people to the breaking point. He likes to watch them snap, likes the validation he gets. The voice in his head that says _ “see? You were right, they didn’t stick around very long” _. It’s a sick game, a weird sport, but he can’t help himself. He wants to prove to himself that he’s unlovable.

“The little shit told the teacher I was copying his test answers and got me detention.” Henry grumbles, halting suddenly, “We’re gonna teach him a lesson though.”

Richie feels sick as Henry starts to tap his fingers along the gray metal of one of the lockers. He can feel the _ thump, thump, thump _of it at the base of his skull, sending chills down his arms. Vic’s getting out the spray paint from his bag and Richie looks around nervously. He keeps pretty good grades, his teachers like him for the most part. He doesn’t need to get on their bad side at the start of his last year.

“Is that pink? Trying to tell us something, Vic?” He asks when he looks away from the corridor, a teasing tone in his voice. He expects Henry to get a good laugh out of that, too, but he has a menacing smile on his face.

“You’ll see why.” He says like he's the villain in a movie. No, he’s the villain in real life. Henry’s sweaty hands steadily push down on the top of the spray can and draw the letters F A G.

Richie feels his stomach drop and he brings the corner of his thumb to his mouth to chew on. 

“Guys, I don’t think-” He starts, silencing himself when Vic holds up a hand. Richie watches, sweat pouring from his forehead, as he finishes. They both pull back, proud of their work. Richie just looks around for the nearest trash can in case he needs to empty his guts. He didn’t want to be a part of _ this _. He can’t shake the sickening feeling even after they drink a beer together and share some laughs. He stares at the paint long after Henry and Vic leave, only returning home when he hears a door somewhere in the school creak open. He still feels the pink spray paint burning into the back of his head as he lays in bed. It’s glowing behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes:

FAGGOT

with a neat, pink triangle drawn underneath.


	2. pitiful, pitiful how you’re stuck in your ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love some feedback on how you feel about this chapter! Please comment, I'm always looking to improve. Be gentle with my sensitive soul, though.

Richie wakes up the next morning dead set on skipping all of his classes, but the longer he thinks about it, the more he wants to go to school because he can’t bear not knowing what will happen when the vandalism is discovered. _Nobody was there_, he reminds himself, _nobody but Henry and his loudmouth friend, Vic_.

Richie stands at his locker, but his eyes are glued on the locker down the hall covered in paint. The sick feeling hasn’t gone away yet and he hasn’t been able to eat anything since it happened. He hopes that if he sees who the locker belongs to and how they react, maybe he’ll be able to eat again. No owner walks up to the locker though, and Richie is forced to go to his first class.

Usually, he struggles to focus in class, finding doodling or the paint peeling on his desk much more interesting, but today he can’t tear his eyes away from the door. He stares at it like he’s waiting for someone to walk in and point at him, tell everybody what he’s done. When did his shirt get so itchy? He wonders if anyone would notice if he tore it off right now. They probably would, he concludes, because it feels like every pair of eyes in the room are staring at him. The clicking from Beverly Marsh’s pen next to him pushes him over the edge, and he bolts from the room. 

He darts towards the locker after a pitstop in the bathroom to collect wet paper towels. This _ has _to work. He scrubs with the towels as aggressively as he can, but it only chips away a few small specks. He wants to die. He starts to use his nails instead, pulling away a few strips of paint from the locker. He’s too invested in his work to even notice that the bell had rung and students were flooding out of their first classes. 

By the time it’s too late and the locker's owner has returned, the message is still loud and clear. Pink is the most violent color, more violent than red, in this moment. So violent, in fact, that the owner lets out a little shriek when he sees the work that has been done.

Two small hands push Richie out of the way, scrambling to cover the writing.

“Did you do this, you piece of shit?” He yells, but Richie can’t do anything other than stare at him with wide eyes. It is just his luck that Eddie Kaspbrak- beautiful, _ amazing _ Eddie Kaspbrak- is the owner of this locker. Eddie has owned his heart since the first time he had spit a snarky comment right back at one of Richie’s jokes, and he didn’t even know it. He _ hates _ Richie, and all the awful jokes he makes. And now, he hates him even more.

“_ Did you? _” Eddie has lowered his voice after realizing that other students are staring, but there is still a fiery anger in his eyes. Richie simultaneously wants to vomit and cry.

“I- no! No, of course not. I was trying to, um…” He shrugs and holds up the towels in his hands. Eddie stares at them for a minute, then removes his hands to peek at the writing on the locker again.

“_ Jesus… _” He whispers and Richie dejectedly notes that his voice sounds choked. Students start clearing the hall for their next classes but not before snickering at the pink paint. Richie likes to imagine that if he were a different person, a better person, he'd tell them all to _"fuck right off!" _but he ignores them instead.

“I...I can’t leave my locker like this. Everyone will see and…” He bows his head low and wipes at his eyes. Richie curses himself for being such a coward and letting this happen. The class clown act and constant stream of expletives from his mouth are all a big cover-up- Richie Tozier is nothing but a coward. He nervously puts his hand on the back of his own neck, stroking at the small hairs there while Eddie leans his forehead against the locker.

“The hardware store is only ten minutes away, we could paint over it before the period is over.” He offers before he can stop himself. Both him and Eddie are startled by the suggestion, but Eddie nods slowly.

“Can you drive?” He’s looking up at him with wide eyes, still a little shocked, and Richie is pretty sure he’s blushing at the small amount of attention he has from him. He ducks his head to hide his red cheeks and nods in response, pulling his car keys out of his pocket.

By the time they climb into Richie’s truck, they’ve both run out of small talk. Eddie looks uncomfortable in his truck, pulling faces at the old Happy Meal cartons on the floor and resting his hands in his lap, refusing to touch anything he doesn’t have to. For the first time in his life, he wishes he would've had the sense to clean it this morning, or at least in the last year. He shoves an empty cup into the cupholder so Eddie won't see the cigarette butts in there. He gets the feeling he doesn't like to smoke. Richie puts the car into reverse.

“By the way, I don’t have my license.” He quips before reversing as fast as he can. He laughs loudly at the squawk that comes out of Eddie’s mouth and how he grips onto the seat. “Relax, I’m kidding.” 

He smoothly switches into drive and steps on the gas much more gently this time. Eddie huffs and crosses his arms, looking up at him from the passenger seat. 

“Asshole.” He grumbles but Richie can see the tiny smile on his face. He feels his heart swell with pride that he was able to get even the smallest smile out of him. He's only done it once before, and he's been trying to see it again ever since. Eddie's not an easy person to get a grin out of because he's too wrapped up in being uptight. Richie loves the uptight, snippy comments he makes, but he _really _wants to hear him genuinely laugh. A giggle, a belly laugh even. If he's lucky, maybe he'll let out a little snort. His heart flutters at the thought. They fall into silence again.

“I can’t believe someone painted that on my locker.” Eddie says into the quiet of the truck, voice barely audible over the sound of the air conditioning. Richie’s stomach drops through the floor of his truck.

“I’d kill whoever did it.” He lies easily, eyes trained on the road.

“You know, it was probably one of those assholes you hang out with.” Eddie cocks an eyebrow, ready to pounce on Richie and tell him off. Then, he seems to remember where he is, that Richie is trying to help him, and he deflates. Richie already feels like spilling his guts, telling him that this all could've been prevented if he had said something. He might have been murdered for telling off Bowers, but at least Eddie wouldn't look so _sad_. Richie wishes it was possible to punch himself right now.

“I know.” Eddie seems surprised by his admission.

“Why are you helping me then?” There’s another long pause and Richie makes the mistake of looking over at Eddie. The air is knocked out of his lungs by the despondent, puppy dog look he’s giving him. He reaches over and pinches his cheek before being batted away by Eddie who tells him to keep his eyes on the road. He does.

“They took it too far this time.” He answers honestly as he pulls into the parking lot. Truthfully, they took it too far most of the time. Richie knows about the things they do when he isn’t around, which are infinitely worse than the ones they do when he _ is _around.

Eddie unbuckles his seat belt without removing his eyes from the side of Richie’s face. He feels exposed. 

“Why are you friends with them?” 

“I’m an asshole, too.” Richie answers easily because it’s the truth. He’s an absolute asshole who makes insensitive jokes and doesn’t care about other people's feelings. He can hear a dissapointed sigh in the back of his head that sounds a lot like his mom. It's the kind of sigh she gives right after he tells her a dumb joke that made his friends roar with laughter. The kind of sigh she does right before she tells him that he's being too loud, too obnoxious. The kind of sigh that means _"why can't you just be normal?"_. He isn't normal, far from it. He fits right in with people like Bowers.

“Yeah, you are.” Eddie agrees, opening the door. “But you’re not the kind of asshole they are.”


	3. he’s just like you

Eddie Kaspbrak is even more hilarious than Richie originally thought, he quickly learns. They mess around in the hardware store for way longer than they should, both squawking laughter as the other goofs around, doing something wildly inappropriate (like holding a rather long piece of wood in a very..._ sexual _ way). They nearly get kicked out more than once and don’t even get back to school until after the next period starts. Eddie doesn’t seem as nervous about anyone seeing his locker anymore, though, and is giggling as they bring in a bucket of green paint to the school.

“We’re just going to make it worse.” He’s saying between laughter that Richie thinks he would genuinely pay money to hear. 

“Nonsense, Eds, this school could use a splash o’ color.” Eddie’s face scrunches up, annoyed at his horrible British accent, Richie presumes.

“Don’t call me that, that’s a terrible nickname.” Richie clutches his chest, gasping. He’s never had someone hate a nickname he made with such vigor.

“That is _ not _a terrible nickname! A terrible nickname would be...Eddie Spaghetti! Do you want me to call you that instead?” Richie pries the lid off of the paint can as he talks, revealing neon green paint. Eddie giggles again and searches for the brushes in the grocery bag.

“That’s terrible! Don’t call me that either, Rich!” Richie _ loves _ the way he’s smiling at him right now, tan cheeks glowing with a blush. He loves the nickname Eddie’s given him even more. Sure, other people have called him that, but never like _ that. _Never with such a pretty smile and big brown eyes looking up at him. 

“Aw, darlin’ Eddie Spaghetti!” He cries, squishing Eddie’s face between his hands. Eddie pushes him away while grumbling about how he’s going to get them caught if he doesn’t shut up. They each take a brush then and swirl it in the ugly green paint. Eddie looks like a little kid, eyes all shiny, bouncing on his heels. 

“Should I draw a dick?” Richie doesn’t wait for permission, just jumps in and starts on his project.

“No, wait!” Eddie screeches, painting a big X over what Richie started. He pouts at the destruction of his art. “ Drawing a...penis on my locker is just going to make it worse, Rich.”

Richie rolls his eyes but nods in submission. “Fine, no penises. You’re no fun.” 

“You’re too much fun.” Eddie chides, nudging Richie out of the way to paint long strokes over the offensive pink. Richie knows he’s heard that same remark before, _ too much fun. _ Or maybe it was _ “you’re too much work”. _Whatever it was, it stung. The way Eddie says it, though, makes his heart feel like it will burst. Richie watches him in awe. He imagines he must look a lot like one of his doodles, with hearts encircling his head, big doe eyes, and an obnoxious blush on his cheeks. He never thought Eddie would have so much fun with him, let alone willingly spend time with him.

“You seem like you could stand to have some fun.” He remarks, redipping his brush in the paint and joining in on the painting. It’s not hard to see that Eddie is new to the thrill of something like this, being the goody-two-shoes he is. Eddie stops painting.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s frowning a bit, but his words are sharp. Paint drips from his brush to the floor. “Do you think I’m...not fun?”

Richie wasn’t expecting that. “What? No! No, I just...I...don’t know. I just meant, you seem like you don’t do...adventurous stuff...often.” Eddie hums a little, then tilts his head in a half-shrug. 

“My mom doesn’t let me.” Richie doesn’t like to pry, he hates when other people do it to him. He likes jokes instead.

“Oooo! I like a bossy woman. Tell me more about the mysterious Mrs. K!” Eddie gags loudly, then unexpectedly flicks Richie with paint.

“Asshole.” He mutters and Richie barks a laugh. He takes his drenched brunch and flicks green paint back at him. 

“Rich! That was way more than I flicked at you!” Eddie shouts, trying to wipe some of it off of his nice yellow button-up. Richie only feels a little bad. It only takes a moment before he’s soaked in twice as much paint as Eddie is.

“You little shit!” He yells back, gaping at the green covering his shirt. Then, he grins evilly at his new friend.

“Oh no, why are you smiling like that?” Eddie looks nervous. Richie lunges forward and wraps his arms around Eddie in a tight, paint-filled hug. He presses his cheek on his head even as Eddie squirms around in his grasp. “Oh my- _ Richie _! Let go!”

“What? I can’t hug my good ol’ pal?” Richie squeezes a little tighter, then releases him. Eddie is out of breath but giggling in between heaving breaths. It sounds like bells to Richie. _ Oh, _ it _ is _bells. The school bell. Students are streaming out from the classes, staring at the two of them covered in green paint. It’s not just them, it’s also the floor and many lockers other than Eddie’s. 

“Holy shit!” He hears from behind him. “Bill, Stan, and I were making bets on where you disappeared to, but I think we all lost.” Richie turns around to find pretty, redheaded Beverly Marsh staring at Eddie, disbelief evident on her face. “What the hell are you doing hanging out with Richie Tozier?”

Eddie seems very, _ very _embarrassed. “I- um. There was something... inappropriate written on my locker. He helped me paint over it.”

“Clearly.” She nods, looking them both up and down. “You two look like you’re starring in _ The Mask _.” Richie chortles, who knew Bev Marsh was so funny? There’s a long, awkward pause before Eddie seems to realize something. 

“Hey, it’s lunchtime now, isn’t it? Would you like to get cleaned up- as best as we can, anyway- and maybe sit with us all for lunch?” Richie pretends like he’s considering it, for dramatic effect, before grinning one of his classic smiles and nodding vigorously. 

“I’d be honored, m’lady.” He states profoundly, and Bev looks at him like he has three heads. Eddie, who’s gotten used to it at this point, just laughs quietly. “Shall we?” He hooks his green-coated arm around Eddie’s and holds out the other for Bev.

“You want me to come into the boy's room with you?” She asks, looping her arm around his.

“Wait, you’re not a boy?” Richie responds, relishing in the way her blue eyes widen before she throws her head back and cackles.

“You asshole!”

“You know, everyone keeps calling me that, I don’t know why…” Eddie rolls his eyes, digging his elbow into Richie’s side fondly. This is certainly not how Richie thought his day would go this morning. 

As the three of them throw banter between each other, Richie swears he can still feel the pink spray paint searing through the back of his skull, eating him from the inside out.


	4. in blackness i am home

Lunch is...awkward, to say the least. Eddie and Bev’s friend Stan is very unimpressed by Richie. So unimpressed, in fact, that he asks numerous times _ in front of Richie _ why they invited him. In Stan’s defense, Richie made so many wildly inappropriate jokes in an attempt to lighten up the mood that he was starting to annoy himself. 

He doesn’t think it went well at all.

Which sucks, really, because Richie genuinely enjoyed hanging out with them. Even Stan was pretty funny when he wasn’t glaring at Richie, and he got several laughs out of everybody else at the table. 

Still, Richie gets the message loud and clear that he isn’t welcome, so he stays away from Eddie for the next few weeks, as hard as it is. He still stares at him in all the classes they have together, but that is definitely not out of the ordinary. He goes back to hanging out with Henry, Vic, and Belch and avoids Eddie’s locker at all costs. He figures that this is probably how things were always meant to be: Eddie Kaspbrak and his cool friends, Richie Tozier and his awful friends, always circling around each other, eyes never meeting.

Eddie seems to have other plans, though. Richie is hanging out in the hallway after school with Henry and Belch, who are both laughing about Tracey Moris’...boobs? Richie is gross, but at least he has a _ little _ class. He wonders what he looks like to outsiders, if they can tell he’s miserable when he’s around his “friends”. Faking a smile comes easy to him most of the time, but it’s extremely difficult around these morons. Even Katharine Hepburn clutching all four of her little golden Oscars couldn’t pretend to enjoy herself around them.

“Richie?” Eddie suddenly appears in front of him, looking nervous but determined. He’s looking up at him through sweet, brown eyelashes that will probably kill Richie eventually.

“Heya, Eds! How’s my boy?” He asks, a real grin appearing on his face. He stops leaning all of his weight against the lockers and stands up straight instead, now hyper aware of his appearance. Eddie loses a little bit of his shyness then and offers a small smile.

“We talked about this, don’t call me that.” He says, fiery Kaspbrak sass in his tone. His smile falters when he notices that Henry and Belch have stopped talking and are now staring at him. He shifts a little closer to Richie, falling under his shadow.

“What makes you think you can talk to him like that, Tinkerbell?” Henry begins, crawling closer to where they’re standing. Richie’s heart picks up as he contemplates what to do. He’s already let Eddie down once, and probably many other times that he can’t remember. If he doesn’t put a stop to this he won’t be able to live with himself.

“Hey, hey!” Richie interrupts with a light tone, “I got this, fellas. Why don’t we take this outside, Kaspbrak?” He finishes, turning towards Eddie and putting a firm hand on his shoulder. His eyes are torn away from Henry and back to Richie, slowly nodding. 

They burst out the front doors into the crisp air outside and Eddie starts to laugh. 

“_ Kaspbrak? _ You called me Kaspbrak! What happened to Eds? Or Eddie Spaghetti?” His laughter is infectious and Richie joins in, slinging an arm around his short friend.

“Don’t worry, my dear Eddie Spaghetti! It was only temporary!” Eddie fights against his affection momentarily, settling against his side in contentment when the obligatory bickering is over.

“So, I wanted to ask if…” He trails off awkwardly and one of his hands plays with his belt loops, “We’re having a movie night, sleepover thing, tonight. It’s always a lot of fun and I would love to have you there.” He’s watching his feet as they walk towards the parking lot, only then does he boldly loop his arm around Richie’s waist.

“Are you sure Stan the Man would be okay with that?” Eddie puffs a breath out, probably rolling his eyes, if only Richie could see him better. He loves his eyerolls. 

“Stan is a pain in the ass, but he’ll warm up to you eventually. He’s not fond of new people, especially new people that hang out with Bowers and Belch.” Eddie’s fingers on his lower back are incredibly distracting.

“I gathered as much.” Eddie looks up at him with expectant eyes, “Of course I’ll come, Eds! I’d never stand you up!” Eddie cracks a smile and it takes all of Richie’s willpower to not pop a kiss onto the top of his pretty little head.

“We usually get together around 5. Don’t be too late if you don’t want Stan to hate you even more.” Richie squeezes Eddie in a half-hug as they arrive at his truck and loves the way Eddie returns it, little fingers squeezing his hip.

“So little warning! You know, it takes a lot of time to look this pretty.” He dramatically flips his hair out of his face, “You wouldn’t understand, Edward, most people don’t have natural beauty like yourself.”

With that, he hops into the car and starts his truck, giving him no time to answer and himself a nice view of Eddie’s crimson face as he speeds out of the parking lot.

Richie’s effortless style takes a lot more effort than usual as he gets ready to drive over to Stan’s house. All of his favorite shirts don’t seem to fit right anymore, his trusty pair of black jeans suddenly betray him. He settles on a bright green shirt with pineapples and pink flowers printed on it. Not his best decision. Stan makes sure he knows that when he shows up at his house.

“What on _ earth _ are you wearing?” One of his eyebrows are raised, but the rest of his face is a blank stare. Richie would die before he admitted it, but he’s not used to people being this hard to impress and it’s killing him. Richie opens and closes his mouth a few times and Stan just rolls his eyes, “Eddie! Your date is here.”

He steps aside and allows Richie in, revealing a very red-faced Eddie in an old, beat up Mountain Dew shirt. Green looks nice on him. It looks nice on both of them, apparently.

“Are you trying to copy my style, Eds?” Eddie goes to object but Beverly cuts in before he can.

“Are you wearing fucking _ pineapples _?” Richie catches Ben eyeing her as she giggles. Interesting. 

“I’ll have you know I am a fashion icon. Do you all shop at the same store? Your clothes are hideously bland.” He plops down next to Beverly on the couch and throws an arm around her. She looks startled by his affection and says as much.

“That’s just how he is with everybody, Bev.” Eddie says, sitting on the other side of Richie with a little space between them. He scoots away from Bev until he’s pressed up against Eddie’s side. There’s no such thing as personal space with Richie Tozier.

He can see Mike and Bill eyeing him carefully but he’s not sure why. He wonders if any of them will ever feel comfortable around him.

“So what are we watching tonight?” He speaks into the sudden quiet. There’s a general hum among them until Bill presents a movie. 

“E-ever seen B-B-Back to the Fuh-Future?” Richie shakes his head and Beverly smacks his arm.

“Seriously? Never? We have to watch it, then!” She shouts, standing up from the couch to grab the film from Bill.

“I’ve already seen it.” Stan grumbles, but nobody pays him any attention. Richie catches his eye and mouths an apology. He thinks Stan might have smiled in response, just a little bit.

The movie starts and Richie is shushed at least three times a minute. That is, until Eddie crosses his legs so his thigh is resting on top of Richie’s leg. This boy makes it incredibly hard to pretend to be straight. He can’t even hear the rest of the movie over his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He is crushing _ hard _ on the petite fireball next to him.

They put on a second movie eventually, and as that one winds to an end Mike and Ben are both fast asleep. He checks on Eddie, daring to make eye contact for the first time since the second movie started only to discover that he’s managed to fall asleep in an upright position. Richie chuckles and gently removes himself from Eddie to pick up the stack of books on the coffee table. One is a book that boasts “Over 100 Different Types of Birds!”.

“Is your mom a...birdatarian or something, Stanny?” Stan blushes from his spot on the floor and Richie sits down next to him, slowly flipping through the book.

“N-No, Stan is just a huh-huge bird nerd.” Bill says, earning a glare from Stan.

“A bird nerd? What’s so interesting about birds?” The book is _ huge _ he realizes as he flips through it. Every page has a new bird and a whole list of facts about each one. Richie didn’t realize there was so much to be said about birds.

“I don’t know.” Stan mumbles and takes the book out of Richie’s hands, “They’re just...cool. It’s like a _ Where’s Waldo? _book but in nature.” He closes the book, ready to put it away.

“Which one is your favorite?” For someone with such a well-perfected side eye, Stan suddenly looks very shy. He pauses for a moment before flipping through the book, showing Richie a bird called a “Nuthatch”.

“He’s got a mean side eye, like you!” Richie pokes Stan’s cheek and he actually laughs. Score! Stan starts flipping through the book again.

“This one reminds me of you.” He says, showing Richie a bird with a giant bill and ugly gray feathers sprouting off the top of his head. This sends them both into a fit of laughter. “He has a huge mouth, like you, and look!-” He can hardly talk through the giggles erupting from his throat, “it says it feasts on a healthy diet of pineapples!”

Richie lunges for the book and Stan plays keep-away. “It does _ not _ say that!” He shouts, barely missing the book as Stan moves it around. There’s a sudden groan from Mike.

“Will you two shut up? You sound like a couple of little girls.” He doesn’t open his eyes once but rolls over in the sleeping bag he brought.

“I take offense to that,” Beverly quips, “I’ve been sitting here this whole time, not making a peep.” So she has. Richie almost forgot about her over there. 

“You smoke, don’t you?” Stan whacks Richie with the book.

“Do _ not _smoke in my house!” He just rolls his eyes in response, standing up and heading towards the front door.

“Relax, we’ll smoke outside. You coming, Bevvy?” She waves him off, untangling herself from the blanket she’s under and heading out the front door with him.

They light up a cigarette in the dark of the night, leaning against the brick exterior of Stan’s house. Richie thinks they must look like they’re in _ The Breakfast Club _or something. Come to think of it, she looks a lot like Claire Standish. Richie would make a shitty John Bender. Also, there’s no way in hell he’d date Bev. She’s like a badass sister.

“Can I ask you something?” She whispers, interrupting the quiet darkness. He looks over at her even though he can hardly see her aside from what the glow of her cigarette covers. He can make out the shape of her profile, nothing more.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He shivers and pulls the blanket he stole from the living room tighter around him.

“Why are you friends with those dumb assholes?” She’s quiet for a moment, then decides to add more, “You know they’ve...roughed up Eddie a few times, right?”

“If I was there during that I would’ve stopped them.” He spits. He really means he would have _ killed _them. Bev must know what he means because she hums quietly. Her head falls back against the wall.

“That doesn’t answer my question, though. If you’re so against the shit they do, why do you hang out with them?” Richie doesn’t like to think about his own choices very much. Self-examination isn’t exactly his thing. He mirrors her- head against the wall. There was one day in sophomore year when he cracked some stupid joke about the teacher and Henry Bowers had overheard it. He laughed, and it made Richie feel good. He was so used to his mom telling him to _ shut up _ or saying nothing at all, too distracted by her “soaps” to pay him any mind. He liked that Henry had laughed, and Henry liked that he had made him laugh. So, he invited him over. No one ever put up with his annoying mouth and sense of humor until then. He was accepted, and he was addicted to fitting in. 

“There’s never been anyone else for me to hang out with.” This is the closest he can say to the truth without wanting to find the nearest bathroom. He can feel Beverly shift then. He thinks she might be facing him with her side against the wall now, judging by where the cigarette’s red cherry has moved to. She’s quiet for a long moment.

“We’re all a bunch of losers here. I’m sure you’ve heard what everyone calls us, what we call ourselves. The Losers’ Club. You’ll fit right in, even if you don’t want to.” The cigarette returns to her lips then, lighting up her face. Her blue eyes are staring right at him with a soft look he’s never seen on her before. He tosses the glowing bud onto the ground and steps on it. He doesn’t want her to see the expression on his face.

“Thanks.” He says quietly, heading back inside.


	5. there’s a man in my closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Bev was insanely difficult to write. I kept having to stop and put myself into her head to figure out what she was trying to do. I really hope I did my favorite redhead justice. Let me know what you thought!

Richie likes girls and it’s definitely not a secret. He talks about girls and kissing and..._ other things _ all the time. He is, by all appearances, _ normal_. Well, as normal as the Trashmouth can be. 

He’s not, though, not at all. Richie’s inner voice is loud and boisterous about liking boys. His inner voice shouts inappropriate comments about boys and _ relentlessly _ flirts with Eddie. In reality, though, a small amount of this is allowed out in the open. He only says what could be determined as just Richie being _ Richie _ . There is a lot to deal with when it comes to him, he doesn’t need to add anymore dirty laundry to the mountain he already has. He _ definitely _doesn’t need Eddie knowing any of that.

That, as it turns out, is a project big enough to keep him busy every hour of every day.

Eddie is relentless and doesn’t even realize it. Sure, Richie is affectionate, but the soft touches that Eddie does are _out of this_ _world_. Eddie, of course, is just friendly with Richie, so he has no idea what he’s doing to him. Little pinky touches when they both reach for something, the way he occasionally rests his head on his shoulder, and don’t even get Richie started on the times that Eddie grabs his elbow or forearm subconsciously as he stands next to his side. If Richie had even an inkling that Eddie liked him back he’d kiss him so hard he’d never breathe again. 

He has inherited the Tozier luck, though, as his mom calls it. He likes a boy who is incapable of liking him back. While he can’t fault him for that, it certainly makes him feel pretty unlucky. Then again, maybe he is lucky, in some twisted way. He’s lucky because he’s really met his match with Eddie, the short little firecracker he is. He’s lucky that, despite the two completely different planets they live on, they’ve still managed to reach across the galaxy and start the best kind of friendship Richie has ever had. 

Don’t tell Eddie, he’ll get a big head.

“Edward Spaghetti Kaspbrak, love, what is on your mind today?” It’s been about a week since their movie night, and Richie has had lunch with the Losers’ Club every day since then. He’s managed to evade any suspicions from his other friend group because they never eat in the cafeteria like the rest of the school, opting to wander around the halls dodging teachers and the Principal. There is no denying the growing friendship between Eddie and himself. He’s even convinced Eddie to let him drive him home on Wednesday’s when Eddie doesn’t have any after school clubs or meetings.

“Nothing is on my mi- Get off, Rich. That is _ not _ my middle name.” Eddie huffs, ducking under the long limbs wrapping around him.

“You wound me.” Richie says simply. He wiggles his tongue against his cheek absent-mindedly. “Listen, Eds, I need an adventure partner tonight. What do you say?”

“Tonight?” Eddie doesn’t look too pleased, “I have homework tonight. You do, too. Also, I don’t really want to know what adventure you have in mind.”

“Just a little fun. A couple of lads out at the quarry at night. I hear BigFoot lurks around there sometimes.” He pokes at Eddie’s cheek, unbothered by his disgruntled noise. “Please, _ pretty _please? You should be flattered that I turned to you before my good friend Mike.”

Eddie frowns, “You and Mike have never spoken to each other, ‘m pretty sure.”

“What? Mike and I go way back, _ way, way _ back! I love that guy more than I love Little Dick.” Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, clearly about to ask what that means. He visibly connects the dots, turning red and angry and grumbling _ “Gross, Rich”. _

“What do you say, my pal? Will you spend some time with dear ol’ Richie?”

“If you’ll shut up and leave me alone for now, sure.” Richie woops loudly, making Eddie’s ears burn from the stares of other students. He agrees to let Richie pick him up at his house and he tries not to think about how much this feels like a date. He just wants to plug his ears and close his eyes and pretend like he’s doing a really good job of not falling head over heels for the short, stubborn, polo-wearing dork next to him.

The whole dumb and blind act does not last long, though. It doesn’t even last until the next period.

Bev grabs him by his collar and pulls him outside before he can sit down at his desk, offering no explanation other than: “Smoke break. _ Now. _”

It’s a rather rude way to ask to spend time with him but what can he say? He’s irresistible. 

“What the fuck is up with you and Eddie?” She says as she tosses him a cigarette. He lights it up when she finishes using the lighter herself.

“Whatcha mean, Bevvy?” They’re standing side by side, like they were the other night. They’ve become fond of each other, taking smoke breaks together often. She’s good with him, knows when to pry or lay off. She’s funny, too. He likes funny.

“You’re so...touchy. Now I’ve heard you’re picking him up from his house tonight for some kind of date? What the fuck?” His mouth goes dry. He isn’t that obvious, is he?

“Did you have dibs or something?” He jokes, hoping that will effectively end the conversation. It doesn’t.

“You can’t fuck around with people like that. The flirting, the cuddling, the nicknames. Do you like him?” Richie’s mouth goes very, _ very _ dry. Her words make it sound like she wants to punch him, but her face is almost...sad. _ Now or never, Tozier, man up. _

“Eddie is...something.” He says, and for awhile he thinks he can’t talk anymore than that, “Yeah. I like him. Goddamn, I like him.”

They stand in silence for a long time. Richie feels like he’s squirming in his skin, unsure what she’ll say. This cruel world is so unforgiving. Nobody accepts these things with open arms, or so he thought.

Bev leans her head onto his shoulder, “Okay,” she breathes in sharply, “Okay, fine.”

He has no idea what’s going on. _ Fine? _

“Am I that obvious? Fuck.” He kicks at the ground and limply rests his head on top of hers.

“It’s okay, Richie. Take your time, you can come out to everyone else when you’re ready. I won’t say a word about you liking Eddie.” Bev is looking at him and he _ hates _that look. The soft smile, knitted eyebrows. It’s too gentle, too pitiful. He steps away from her.

“That’s- _ fuck, _Bev! That’s the problem! I don’t want to ‘come out’! I don’t want to have a little sit-down meeting with everybody and wave a rainbow flag and have everyone hug me and look at me like you’re looking at me right now. I just want to make a gross joke about a guy- just like the jokes I make about girls- and have nobody look at me weird. I don’t want to have some big, tearful moment. I want everyone to not bat an eye when I date a girl or a guy and just shrug and say ‘that’s Richie’. I just want to be Richie, that’s all.” His speech starts off strong, but by the end he’s deflated, all the fire in his words gone. He’s tired.

He feels Beverly’s hand on his shoulder but when he looks at her, her face is different. She doesn’t look sad or pitiful. She’s smiling, actually.

“I couldn’t think of a more ‘Richie’ way to come out than that.” 

He frowns deeply, forehead creasing. He pushes his glasses back up his long nose bridge as he ducks his head.

“Just, be careful. You know Eddie, he…” She trails off like he knows what she’s talking about. He doesn’t, because he’s an idiot. He nods solemnly like he does, though, because it seems like the right thing to do. His head tries to fill in the blank as she pulls away.

“Gotta head back to class, talk later, yeah?” He nods in response to her retreating figure.

_ “You know Eddie, he...he won’t feel the same way.” _ Richie concludes that this is the only possible end to the sentence. If only she knew. She wasn’t there in sixth grade when Eddie first told him off, hands on his hips and his perfect, pretty face contorting in anger. She wasn’t there. She didn’t see how hard he had hit the ground when he fell for the fanny pack wearing dork. She wouldn’t understand. It was too late to _ “be careful” _.

By the time he is supposed to pick Eddie up, he is so down in the dumps that he changes his plans. He parks his truck down the street, wanders into Eddie’s backyard, and peeks into all the windows until he finds the one with a certain pint-sized asthmatic pacing around. Raising a fist to the window, he taps three times as gently as he can. He smiles at the way Eddie perks up and runs over to the window with confusion all over his face.

“What are you doing back here?” He says in a hushed voice, “I was planning on sneaking out!”

“Mind if I sneak in instead, Eddie Spaghetti?” He asks, not waiting for confirmation to throw one leg over the windowsill. Eddie steps aside and he slides in easily.

“You don’t want to go out anymore?” Eddie looks concerned, now, watching as Richie lays down on his bed, hands settling over his stomach. He stares at the ceiling dramatically.

“Everything sucks.” He grumbles and turns to face Eddie. The sound of his hand patting the bed draws him over. Eddie lays down next to him. He allows himself a second to smile at the closeness, _ rightness _of this moment. 

“What happened, ‘Chee?” This new nickname does wild things to his stomach. He sighs loudly. Beverly’s words repeat in the back of his head as he scoots towards Eddie until their sides are flush against each other.

“Everything just sucks.” He repeats, knowing there’s numerous things he should open up about, but won’t. _ My friends are terrible, my mom hates me, I hate myself...and on and on. _

“Me too.” Eddie nods slowly. Richie stops breathing when he sees Eddie’s hand moving towards his own. Their fingers intertwine. “My mom lectured me for _ years _when I said I was going out tonight. I’m almost eighteen, when is she going to realize she can’t control me anymore?”

“Parents fucking suck. Everyone fucking sucks.” Eddie looks over at him then with a small smile and squeezes his hand.

“You don’t.” He whispers, and Richie is so choked up he hardly says another word for the rest of the night. He wants to tell him about every single mistake he’s ever made and see if he still feels the same way, still wants to hold his hand and be his friend. But he holds back, because he likes this moment too much to test it, because he knows it _ will _ break. He knows that there’s a breaking point, and he knows that it looks a lot like that night he broke into the school with Bowers and Vic.


	6. mother leave me with my thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter that hits close to home for me. I really hope you enjoy it!

Poor, sweet Bev had tried to warn him. Falling asleep in the same bed as his crush is the worst idea Richie’s ever had. To be fair, it wasn’t really intentional. He had been listening to Eddie complain about his mom for about an hour, and his voice was so soft and sweet that Richie had just...conked out. When he wakes up in the middle of the night (probably very early in the morning, actually) he makes a startled noise and flops around a bit before realizing where he is. Embarrassment gnaws at his stomach as he thinks about Eddie stopping halfway through his sentence to look over at him only to discover he’s rudely snoring. If he was in Eddie’s position, he would have woken himself up and kicked him out. Clearly, judging by the darkness inside, Eddie had just let him sleep in _ his _bed. Speaking of Eddie, where is he? His eyes try to adjust to the darkness and he listens for Eddie’s breathing.

_ Oh. _

Oh _ no. _

Richie can hardly see him, but he can feel his chest rising and falling against his arm, which means the weight on his shoulder must be Eddie’s head. Richie is _ so _fucked.

He’s sure their precarious position is not intentional, likely caused by Eddie rolling over in his sleep, but Richie can’t help the way his heart squeezes like someone is jumping up and down on it like it’s a trampoline. The way Richie startles out of the bed probably looks ridiculous, if only someone were awake to watch it. His ass hits the ground hard, then he stands and stumbles around for a moment. He _ can’t _do this to himself. He can’t allow himself to pretend like he’s in some sickly sweet romantic comedy where he falls head over heels for the pretty, mean boy in his grade and Bev gives him a makeover and suddenly Eddie likes him back. No. That’s not what this is.

This is a story about some dumb, loud teenage boy who has managed to cover up his sexuality for seventeen years and isn’t going to let a stupid crush tear that all down. It’s a story about how much heartbreak, self-hatred, and pain one person can carry around in their heart until they snap. It’s a story that doesn’t end well, because it’s a story about Richie Tozier, and the universe will never allow him a happy ending.

The truck starts with a loud grunt, too loud at- he squints at the time on his dashboard- 2:34am. It rocks as he shoots off into the night, headed for his house.

He creaks the front door open and kicks his shoes off. The house is quiet and clean, like it always is. He’s always thought the way houses were littered with beer bottles and cans in the movies was so corny, so on the nose. No, his house was always clean, always perfect. Nobody ever suspected a thing. 

His mom cleaned well, cooked well, worked well. Maggie Tozier was your typical woman, nothing particularly outstanding or different. The only thing unique about her was her lackluster personality, ironically. When Maggie came and went, nobody noticed. Maybe she had grown used to it and assumed that was the way everyone treated everybody else. Maybe that was why she never seemed to notice Richie coming and going, never seemed to pay him any mind. Or maybe it was because he reminded her too much of a boyfriend that walked out on her years ago. 

Those nights- when he turned his head to an angle that made him look a little too much like his long gone father- were the worst nights. When he was young, he didn’t understand why it happened. Now, if he pays close attention, he can tell when it’s coming. He can hear the almost imperceptible slur to her words, the way her hands take a little longer to reach the remote. Those are the nights he wouldn’t dare let the contents of slip past his lips. 

The nights like these are the best he can hope for: complete darkness, the only sound the hum of a TV upstairs, and nobody around to talk to him. Who knew Richie Tozier liked the quiet?

As he lands in a pile onto his bed, he wonders how he ended up in a home like this. He wishes he wasn’t related to her, but their matching nest of black ringlets won’t let him deny it. He wonders what else is genetic. Is being a deadbeat parent genetic somehow? An alcoholic? 

Is being a complete waste of space genetic too?

His socked toes push past the end of the bed, long legs sprouting beyond the bedspread. He feels like he takes up too much space. He shouldn’t be allowed to fill this much room, not when he contributes so little to the world he takes part in. If people are piggy banks and their accomplishments are coins, Richie is completely barren inside. Nothing rattles when you move him. He’s hollow.

He tries to pretend like there’s no knife in his chest when he closes his eyes.

The older he gets, the easier it is to pretend. He finds out what cues people into his mood, and with a little bit of practice, he makes his tells vanish. To everybody else, Richie looks like the happiest, cockiest shithead you’ve ever met. _ I am, _ he tells himself, _ I’m the happiest person there is. _

So why does Eddie make him want to word-vomit every thought that comes across his mind? He’s well-versed in acting, his smile is a well-oiled machine, it’s not difficult for him to hide. Eddie never seems to notice when he’s feeling down, never asks him ‘what’s wrong?’ or gives him a pitiful look. None of this seems to matter, though, because when Richie finds himself caught in the middle of a terrible day, he almost needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t run to Eddie and tell him all about it.

Does Eddie ever think it’s unfair, how he always tells Richie about his problems but never hears a word about Richie’s? Does he even notice? 

“You and Eddie are awfully close now.” Stan says, eyes not on Richie, instead looking up at the trees. _ Yes, _ Richie did cave when Stan asked him to go bird-watching with him. He wanted to make his friend happy, so _ sue him _.

“What makes you say that?” He genuinely asks, curious about the direction this conversation is going. He swears to god if Bev said a _ word _he will kill her. 

“Eddie tells me stuff, says you’ve been sneaking into his room sometimes since his mom won’t let him outside right now.” He doesn’t seem to be implying anything like Beverly was, so he lets his guard down.

“Yeah, I figured he’s probably getting lonely in there. You’d do the same for Bill.” Richie has picked up on the dynamic between all of the losers. They’re all close, but certain duos are closer than the rest, like Bill and Stan. They seem to have a brotherly bond that Richie admires, having no siblings himself.

“Well, that’s different. I _ like _ Bill.” The cherry soda Richie was drinking literally shoots out of his nose onto the picnic bench they’re sitting on. Stan breaks out into laughter, immediately quieting himself so that he won’t scare away any of the birds.

“I’m- I’m sorry, you _ what _him?” He keeps coughing, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. 

“I like him. Like, a crush, you know?” Richie admires the balls his bird-nerd friend has. Stan seems perfectly confident, but he can see his smile falter just a little. Richie feels like a bad friend, then, and he throws his arm over Stan’s shoulder.

“Well, well. When are you planning on telling him?” He pretends like he isn’t in the exact same situation. Stan hums, biting his lip.

“I don’t know, Rich. These things aren’t exactly easy.” Richie nods, finding silence appears wiser than words. That’s all they say on the subject.

Richie’s mind will not leave him alone after that. _ It’s two against five now! _ Which are terrible odds. _ It’s better than one against 6, _his brain argues. He groans aloud, and Eddie eyes him from his seat next to him. 

“Everything okay, Richie?” He questions delicately, eyebrows drawn in worry. 

“Yeah, shortstack, everything is fine.” Eddie turns red and kicks him under the table, _ ouch _. 

“Hey! Shortstack and haystack!” Ben nudges Eddie with his elbow, much more enthusiastic about Richie’s nicknames than most people are. Richie likes it.

Across the lunch room, Richie spots Arnold Rojas. Arnie is a good-looking guy, a little above average, at least. He plays the guitar and has a voice like an angel. Richie would never go for him, though, because his personality is a little...flat. However, his ass certainly isn’t. 

Richie sucks in a breath and swallows the comment in his throat. He looks around the table, at Stan who’s reading some book about birds, probably. Bill and Mike are laughing about something Beverly said, but Ben is rolling his eyes. Eddie’s laughing too, Richie notes, he can feel him shaking with giggles next to him. His stomach does a twist, he looks back across the cafeteria at Arnie. He takes a leap.

“Arnold Rojas? More like Arnold Roj-ASS, am I right?” He motions vaguely in the direction of where Arnie is sitting, feeling like sweat is dripping down his face.

The only person who really reacts at all is Eddie, who chokes on whatever he’s eating. Richie meets his eyes that are staring up at him, with a question hidden behind them. He wishes he was anywhere else right now, like 30 seconds before he made that comment. 

“His ass isn’t that great.” Stan responds with a shrug. Bless his goddamn heart. There’s the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. Eddie’s head whips over to Stan so fast Richie’s afraid he’ll break his neck. Bill is quick to follow. “Have you seen Jake Cunningham’s though?” He adds, doing a low whistle.

_ “What?” _ Eddie spits, sounding startled. 

“Aw, Eddie Spaghetti! Are you jealous?” He teases, wrapping an arm around him and pinching his cheek, “Don’t worry, my dear, you put the _ ass _in K-ass-pbrak!” He runs a hand through Eddie’s hair, making it stick in all different directions. His face is bright red as he swats at Richie’s hands angrily.

“Shut up, ‘Chee.” He grumbles, chugging his water like he hasn’t had a drink in years. Eddie has him worried for a moment until he utters _'Chee_, so sweet and soft like he always says it. He thanks his lucky stars that nobody at their table seems to bat an eye at either Stan or Richie.

Richie is pretty sure he’s crazy, but he swears Eddie is pressed a little closer to him by the end of the lunch period. That just so happens to be exactly when Henry and Vic enter the lunchroom.


	7. of water you wash me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore Mike and really wanted to work a good moment with him into one of the chapters, so here it is!

The walls are so barren in his room, Richie absentmindedly notes. He wishes he had bothered to put up some posters, or maybe some of his artwork he’s done in his free time. He’s not a bad artist, Eddie would have been impressed when they walked into the room. He would’ve run over and traced his fingers over the lines Richie has drawn. It’s too late now.

Eddie is sitting next to him on the bed, holding a bag of frozen edamame to his lips. Richie wishes there was no bag there, that Eddie’s thumb was tracing his lips, no stupid soybeans blocking them.

“Why doesn’t your mom own any fucking ice packs?” Eddie is pissed, as he usually is. Richie adores the fire this boy exudes. 

Eddie moves the edamame when he doesn’t answer and gets a better look at the cut on his lip, now that it’s been cleaned and disinfected. The second the frozen vegetables leave his face he groans, throbbing coming back full force. Eddie hisses and presses it against his face again.

“You’re fucking stupid.” He tells him, eyeing the black bruise developing under Richie’s left brow. He juts his bottom lip out and gives Eddie the best sad puppy dog look he can muster with half his face hidden by a frozen bag. It must work, because Eddie sighs and brushes the curls off of his forehead. His emotions can’t seem to decide on anger or guilt.

“Hey,” Richie says softly, because everything he does around Eddie seems to be softer than usual, “It’s not your fault.”

“You’re right,” Eddie sounds like he’s trying to be angry, but the usual bite in his words is missing, “It’s yours. You’re the idiot who’s friends with those assholes in the first place.”

Richie nods, taking the pack of edamame out of Eddie’s hands. He doesn’t deserve to be taken care of by him. 

“Are_ you _ okay?” He asks quietly, running a hand over the small boys shoulder. The same shoulder that had gotten him into his mess. Eddie hums an affirmative noise.

_ “Is this where you’ve been running off to lately?” Henry spits, putting his hands down onto the lunch table and getting into Richie’s face. Richie hadn’t noticed him coming, so he scrambles back from the table out of shock. Vic edges closer to him now and Richie doesn’t understand why they seem so mad. Their reactions always seem misplaced, though, over the top. _

_ He tries to keep the situation light, throwing out a joke that he can’t remember now. When nobody laughs and the atmosphere stays the same, he freezes in his spot. He’s been in this position numerous times, with Vic or Belch or Henry crowding into his space angrily. This time it feels different, though. _

_ “Why are you hanging around Tinkerbell all the fucking time?” Vic asks, eyeing Eddie like a dog ready to chase. _

_ “Aw, come on, Vic! Don’t be jealous, you’re still my main man!” Vic’s fist closes around his infamous pineapple and pink flower shirt, fisting the fabric. _

_ “Shut the fuck up.” He growls, “I’m so fucking sick of you and your jokes, Tozier. I will kill you if I get the chance.” _

_ Richie swallows. Even Henry looks mildly surprised by Vic taking the Asshole Spotlight away from him. _

_ “Let go of him, asswipe!” Eddie’s voice sounds from next to him, and Richie unfreezes. His arm shoots out like a mom stopping their kid from walking into the street without looking, but it’s too late. Vic grabs onto Eddie’s shoulder and gives it a hard shove, sending him flying onto the ground. He can hear the losers running over to help him up and make sure he’s okay. Richie doesn’t move, though. His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow. _

_ Crack! _

_ Vic stumbles back, holding his jaw. He looks bewildered, as he should be. Richie has never hit another human being in his life until now. It takes Vic a minute to adjust to what just happened before he lets out a loud, startled laugh. He swings, blood spraying from Richie’s mouth. Henry joins in also, landing maybe five punches between the two of them before Eddie is screaming. Stan and Mike grab onto Richie, pulling him away from their reach. Teachers have started to notice and are running over to where they stand. _

_ The drama ends. Richie is suspended for the next two school days, and released early due to his injuries. Eddie drives him home in Richie’s truck, not trusting him in his current state. Only when they reach the house does he admit that he doesn’t have his license, but thinks he’s a better driver than Richie on his worst day. _

“Don’t get a big head, but…” Eddie trails off, looking down at his hands, “thank you for sticking up for me.” Richie grins dopily and drapes an arm around his shoulders. He abandons the pack of edamame in favor of pinching Eddie’s cheek.

“Anything for my Eddie Spaghetti! I’m kind of like a hero now, huh?” Eddie roughly grabs onto Richie’s hand to push it away from his face, grimacing when he winces. He had forgotten the knuckles were swollen from the one punch he had gotten in. Eddie holds onto his hand gently, a silent apology. If Richie could function right now he might run his thumb along the back of his hand, but his head is spinning from the small gesture. 

“Yeah, you’re a hero who got his ass handed to him.” He snickers- a beautiful, enchanting sound. 

“The hero always has to lose once so he can return stronger for the final battle.” He comes back to life with the teasing, gently squeezing Eddie’s hand before reaching up to pick an eyelash off of his tan, freckled cheek. He catches himself when it’s too late. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath at the misplaced intimacy of the moment. 

“Final battle? I hope you never get into another fight with them again.” He lets out a laugh that has a strange sound to it. He sounds a little dazed.

Richie frowns, realizing something, “Are you going to get into trouble for cutting class to drive me home?”

Eddie huffs and lays down on the bed. Richie quickly follows. They both know the answer to the question.

“Don’t worry, Eds, I’ll sneak in and keep you company, I promise.”

“Not my name.” Eddie grumbles, “I’ll keep the window unlocked, I promise.” He smiles at their little vow. It feels like despite everything, they’ve managed to cut out their own little piece of the world. 

Later that same day, there’s a knock at his door. His mom hasn’t come home yet, even though it’s nearing seven at night. The house is still. There’s a very eerie feeling in the pit of his stomach. Who’s knocking on his door this late at night, without ringing him up first to ask if he’s home?

He curses the lack of a peep hole on their front door. At least there's a big, glass lamp resting on the table next to the door. It will make a good weapon.

He swings the door open, squawking and reaching for the lamp when he sees the silhouette of a large man on his doorstep. He stumbles out of the way of the door frame before getting a good look at their face. The stranger laughs, loud and rumbling. _ Oh, _ he realizes, peeking back around the doorframe at the man, _ it’s just Mike. _

“Did I scare you?” He asks between bubbles of laughter. He enters the house when Richie steps aside.

“A little,” he joins in with the laughter, “My mom isn’t home, so I was a little scared.”

Mike pads over to his couch, seemingly already comfortable in Richie’s house. He looks out of place in the room. He brings so much warmth into a place that’s usually quiet, the grey tones of the TV washing over the room, blinds drawn shut to keep the light out. His knees buckle slightly when the weight of his loneliness hits him in the chest. He hasn’t seen a semblance of life in this living room in so long, maybe never. 

“Sorry I came over unexpectedly, I just… don’t have your number.” Richie makes his way to the couch and sits down next to him. He doesn’t really think it’s appropriate to say _ “I don’t mind at all, I could burst into tears from how lonely I feel.” _

“That’s alright, Mikey.” He picks stupidly at the cut on his lip.

“Sorry,” Mike apologizes again, beginning to look uncomfortable, “I don’t know what to say. We’ve never really-”

“-talked,” Richie cuts him off, “I know, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just-” He pushes the sleeves of his sweatshirt towards his fingertips so he has something to play with, “I’m kind of intimidated by you.”

Mike looks offended, or maybe just confused. “Intimidated? Did I-”

“No!” Richie cuts him off again and realizes he’s being rude, he sighs, “_ sorry, _ it’s stupid. You’re just kind of, really cool. Like, laid back, you know? I don’t know, you’re just… _ mysterious _.”

Mike laughs again, just as loud as before. It’s very nice, it warms the room just like his presence does. He thinks this must be what a home is supposed to sound like.

“I’m not _ cool, _ Richie. I’m definitely not mysterious. I think you’re mistaking my shyness for coolness.” Mike’s laughter has died down but his smile is still there. “I was actually kind of intimidated by you. You’re… a _ lot _.”

It feels a little like an insult, but Mike doesn’t seem to mean it as one. Richie shrugs, “I guess we were just being stupid.”

Mike nods and there’s a beat before he seems to remember that there’s an unanswered question in the air, “I came over to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yeah, for sticking up for Eddie the way that you did. It was… _ stupid _. But, those assholes have been picking on him for years. It was just nice to see Eddie get a punch in, even if it wasn’t actually him.”

Richie feels overwhelmed. He blinks his eyes against the familiar sting of tears. Why is he so emotional? He wants to tell Mike that there’s no thanks necessary, because he was the reason they even showed up at the table in the first place. He wants to tell him that while he wasn't there the other times they picked on Eddie, he still could have put a stop to it. His heart urges him to tell him about the night he broke into the school. He didn’t stop them then, either.

He’s been quiet for awhile, and Mike seems to catch onto the turmoil inside himself.

“People make mistakes, Richie. You’re not like them. You proved that today.” 

Richie looks towards the front window and sees that, through the slivers of the closed blinds, the sun is setting. It’s a Friday night. These occasions are rare, but if Maggie isn’t home before sunset, it means that she probably won’t be home that night at all. Richie never knows where she disappears to, but he figures it’s the bar on the road that takes her home from work. He figures she probably finds someone there who takes an interest in her and ends her night in a Motel 6. He can’t say he blames her. He knows how good that attention feels when you haven’t had it in so long. He looks back to Mike.

“Would you want to have a sleepover tonight? I know you weren’t planning on it, but you could borrow some of my clothes and I think we have some leftover-”

“I’d love that! Just, let me call my grandpa, okay?” Mike answers, seeming genuinely excited. Richie smiles to himself when Mike steps out of the room- who knew Mike Hanlon would take this houses sleepover virginity? He wanders over to the blinds and opens them. The house gives way to the warmth, then. The light from the sunset fills the room through the front window, bathing it in golden rays. This house has never seen the pure innocence of a sleepover before and, Richie thinks, it must be as excited as he is.

When Richie closes his eyes at 3am that night, Mike’s words are echoing around in his brain:

_ “You’re not like them. You proved that today.” _

If people are piggy banks and their accomplishments are coins, maybe Richie isn’t as hollow as he once thought. Maybe he has just one shiny, small, copper penny. 

And that’s enough for him.


	8. homicidal unstable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are short. I would've made them into one chapter but they have a mind of their own, so they're two separate, short chapters. Enjoy!

Being suspended is worse than being in school. It’s just like having a weekend off, but everyone else is stuck in school, leaving Richie with absolutely nothing to do. That is, until 3:35, when Eddie finally gets home and Richie can sneak in through his window, effectively scaring the shit out of him.

Eddie lets out a half-scream when he hears Richie grunt as he tries to wriggle in through the window. 

“Eddie! Are you okay, honey? Are you sick?” Sonia asks from the hallway, voice high-pitched and concerned. 

“No! No, mom. Sorry, I just...um, knocked something over in my room.” Richie shoots him a look that says_ ‘that’s the best you could come up with?’_.Eddie glares back.

“You couldn’t have knocked first?” He whisper-shouts, going over to help Richie pull himself entirely through the window. “I could’ve been naked or changing or something!”

“Can’t say I wouldn’t have liked that.” Richie says with a click of his tongue. Both of them freeze. He’s saying...way too many things. He forces a laugh, physically distancing himself from Eddie.

Eddie has a blush coating his cheeks, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. Richie is pretty sure that’s not the kind of comment Eddie will let slide. He looks like he’s unsure of what to say, too. He coughs and shakes his head, trying to clear away whatever thoughts are in there. Richie wants to grab at the imaginary thoughts leaving his head and read them all. 

“How was...school?” Richie asks shyly, wandering over to Eddie’s bed and throwing himself down.

“It was good. I didn’t have some loud giraffe yelling in my ear all damn day, so yeah, I’d say it went pretty well.” Eddie deadpans, sitting next to Richie.

“Aw, come on, you missed me!” Eddie is looking down at Richie. From his position on his back, Richie can admire the sweet smile he’s giving him. He sits back up and gives Eddie a hug. “I missed you too, Spaghetti Head.”

Eddie smells like… Eddie. It’s nice. It’s not distinct, not to anyone who hasn’t spent as much time around Eddie as Richie has. They’ve been friends for a little over three months, but Richie is willing to bet he’s spent a total of 86 days of that time by Eddie’s side.

Richie closes his eyes, squeezing Eddie a little tighter when Sonia sounds from outside his door. 

“Eddie, baby. I made you an after school snack.” She says, voice muffled through the wood. Eddie shoots up out of Richie’s grasp.

“I’m not hungry, Ma.” Richie doesn’t miss that he sounds scared, scared in a way most kids don’t sound of their parents. 

“_ Eddie _.” She sounds angry now, “We talked about this. No more arguing. I don’t know why you suddenly think it’s okay to talk back to me, but it’s not.” Richie feels anger surge in his chest. Eddie hadn’t even been talking back, and suddenly he was being scolded? The doorknob rattles but it’s locked.

_ “Eddie!” _She says again, louder this time.

“Ma, please.” Eddie snaps, then his voice turns into an uncharacteristic whisper, “_ Please, _don’t.”

Her disgruntled noises from outside turn into hysterics, little whimpers and cries. It’s an atrocious sound when she starts to wail like a police siren.

“Your father would be so disappointed, Edward! How dare you do this to him!” Richie bolts up off of the bed against his will, stalking towards the door. Eddie catches his wrist before he flings the door open, though, a pleading look on his face.

“Don’t. She’ll get tired and go away eventually.” Sonia can’t hear him over her wails. He looks tired himself, eyes sad. Richie flips his hand over in Eddie’s grip to grab onto his wrist, too. They stand there for a minute, hands on each other’s wrists, staring into each other's eyes as her wails die down and she moves away from the door. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie. You don’t deserve that.” Eddie shrugs, though, and goes back to his bed.

“I’m used to it.” His voice sounds far away, lost. “I don’t remember my dad anymore. He feels like nothing but a weapon now. Sometimes it feels like he was never a real person.”

Richie’s head bows low in the stillness of the room. He considers his options. _ Be careful _ , Bev tells him again, somewhere inside of his head. _ Fuck everything, _ he retorts to Bev’s voice, shutting it up. He lays down next to Eddie, snaking an arm under his back and tugging him closer. He looks startled for a moment before relaxing back against Richie’s shoulder. He can feel his breath fanning across his collarbone, raising goosebumps. Eddie keeps his hands away from Richie, settling them in any space and moving them away if they accidentally touch his skin. Richie begins to think that maybe he has made him uncomfortable in his stupid, lovestruck way of comforting him. He shifts awkwardly, ready to leave Eddie alone with his thoughts. A small hand gingerly grabs his own. He turns, inches away from the button nose next to him.

“Don’t leave.” Eddie croaks, voice thick and low. His eyes are closed, and Richie realizes that Eddie has been crying. Wet lines run over his cheeks, eyelids puffy and red.

Richie won’t leave. Never, ever, ever. Not even Bev could make him.


	9. i don't see you in my future

People are like rubber bands to Richie. They seem tough, sturdy, binding. They make you think they can hold themselves together. If you did a trust fall against them they would catch you and bungee you right back to an upright position. Rubber bands grow old, though. They have a breaking point. Richie is an expert at finding their weak spots and pushing, pushing, pushing, until  _ snap! _

That’s the same sound his mom's hand makes as it collides with his cheek for the second time that afternoon.  _ She’s so smart,  _ he thinks. She always knows how to hit  _ just  _ soft enough that it brings tears to his eyes, but doesn’t bruise. And if it does bruise, it’s always covered by the T-shirt he’s wearing. Richie can’t even remember when she first snapped. “ _ You’re so difficult”  _ he remembers her sobbing on the bathroom floor after he had made a mess or drawn on the wall.  _ “Why can’t you just be a good boy for mommy? Why do you do this to me?” _ . Maybe that was the first time. He’s pretty sure that’s the first memory he’s ever had, sitting on the cold bathroom tile, sobbing.  _ Difficult, difficult, difficult. _

Difficult.

Who is Richie Tozier, if not difficult?

He’s biking to Eddie’s house, crying as he goes. He couldn’t find his truck keys fast enough, probably lost in one of his jeans pockets in the hamper. Instead, he ran to the garage and took off on his bike. The wind dries his face as he goes and he feels like a kid again. His long jacket blows in the wind, he keeps nudging his glasses back with his shoulder. When he was a kid, he’d just bike around aimlessly. Now he has somewhere to go.

He ditches the bike in a neighboring yard before climbing over the fence and tapping on the window he’s seen so many times before. He catches his own eyes in the reflection of the window. For a moment, he looks like he did when he was a kid. Back when he’d end most of his nights with red-rimmed eyes, tears dripping down pudgy cheeks. His stomach turns at the sight of himself, he looks away from the reflection of his jarringly pointed features. He looks like a caricature, like someone pieced together a person from clippings of a magazine.  _ Like Frankenstein’s monster, _ his brain supplies. He stares at his feet, ready to turn away and bike back home and forget about this stupid decision. The window slides open.

“Richie?” Eddie’s upper half leans out of the window, one hand reaching out towards him but he stops, leaving it to dangle in between them. Richie bends and lets out a huffed cry. He doesn’t make a move to enter Eddie’s room so Eddie gets a coat and meets him in the grass of the yard instead.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” 

“Don’t wanna be here. Let’s go somewhere.” These are the only words Richie can muster, but thankfully Eddie nods. 

The bike ride is only about three minutes to the neighboring park, but Richie wishes it was longer. He already feels better with Eddie’s hands resting on his shoulders on the way over. 

They collapse into the cold, dewy grass. Eddie is quiet, looking over at Richie like he’s an alien.

“It’s nothing.” Richie says, a lame attempt to calm the situation.

“Bullshit.” Eddie snaps, shifting around angrily. Richie admires that, despite having no idea what’s happening, he is still angry at whatever made Richie cry. It’s so endearing that Richie’s heart gives a tight squeeze. “Who hit you?”

Richie’s eyebrows draw together, fingers coming up to his cheek. How did he know?

“Nobody hit me, Eds.” He lies, protectively turning the wounded cheek away from him.

“Bullshit.” Eddie states again, “You have a literal welt on your face.”

Richie swallows against the fear in his chest. He stupidly hadn’t checked before he left the house to make sure the injury wasn’t visible.

“It’s…” His voice sounds numb, “It’s nothing.”

They feel like strangers, farther apart than they’ve ever been. He wants to be back in Eddie’s bed, side by side. 

“It’s not nothing, Rich! Why are you hiding this from me?” Eddie’s voice is loud and it makes Richie shrink back. He feels small, smaller than the six foot teenager he’s grown into. He feels like a child that’s been caught doing something wrong. It’s a familiar feeling.

“Don’t fucking push me, Eddie.” The image of a bird in one of Stan’s books spreading its wings to appear more threatening pops into his mind. Eddie pulls back in surprise. There’s an ocean between them now. Richie decides that it’s for the better. Eddie was getting too close, anyway.

“Fuck you, Richie.” Eddie gets up and dusts off his pants angrily. He lingers for a moment, like he’s waiting for something. Nothing comes.

Tears in his eyes, he turns to leave. 

_ Snap.  _ And Richie wasn’t even trying.


	10. i'm rooting for the underdog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because you’re going to leave!” He hates the way Eddie recoils from him, but it only punctuates his point, “You’re going to leave and I think I’ll die if I open up to you and you leave me! It’s better if I push you away before it happens and keep you at a safe distance. Then at least I can tell myself that you didn’t leave me you left what you thought was me.”

When Stanley Uris shows up at his house the next day, Richie has never seen him look so angry. His throat, eyes, and cheek hurt so bad that he really wants to tell him to have a little sympathy and go easy on him. He wants to tell him that he’s been crying all night and that he just wants a break. Then, he remembers Eddie’s face when he left him, and he lowers his head, knowing he fully deserves whatever Stan has in store for him. He pushes past Richie so angrily that he nearly falls over onto the carpeted floor. Stan sits down on the couch, fisting the edges of the cushion in his hands, then stands up and gets into Richie’s space.

“Was it fucking Bowers who hit you?” He asks, voice low and eyes narrowed. Richie is pretty sure he’s never heard him curse, and he’s never seen him this close. He could count every mole on his face right now.

“What?” Is all he can croak out, shrinking under Stanley’s gaze.

“Cut the bullshit. Eddie told me someone hurt you and that you wouldn’t tell him who it was.” Richie’s chest tightens and he looks towards the stairs. His mom isn’t home, but her presence feels like it’s still there, watching.

“Aren’t you...Aren’t you here to tell me off for being such a piece of shit to Eds?” He shifts on his feet, but Stan’s face doesn’t falter.

“Listen, Richie. Eddie is one of my best friends and don’t get me wrong, I am  _ so _ angry at you for whatever you did last night to make him cry,” Richie winces, “But you’re my friend too. You’re not some package deal, you’re  _ my  _ friend, too.”

The statement hits him like a ton of bricks. He never really thought that he was a  _ part  _ of the group. Everyone just considered him Eddie’s friend, a buy one get one free deal. Richie wants to lunge forward and hug Stan as tight as he can, and he does. Stan stiffens under his grip, but after a few moments he returns the hug. One hand awkwardly hangs over his back then slides down his spine in a soothing gesture.

“Tell me what happened, was it Bowers?” His voice is much softer now as he pulls away from Richie. Richie shakes his head, and Stan follows his gaze to the stairs. He seems to connect all the dots at once.

“Holy shit, was it your mom?”

The house leans closer, listening. Richie thinks he might be suffocating. He looks down at the thin, white shirt he’s wearing. No snow is falling, but it’s the middle of December, one week away from Christmas break. He drags himself out into the cold anyway, not risking having a full-fledged panic attack to go upstairs and retrieve a coat. 

There’s a lovely patio bench adorned in hand-painted white flowers outside his door. It looks out of place in the wintery air. He hates how homey it looks, how misleading. Stan sits down on it, looking like he truly belongs there. Richie stays standing, not wanting to ruin the picture-perfect moment.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” He pauses, he won’t look at Richie, “How long has she been doing that?”

Richie thinks that this is so pointless. What is Stan going to do? He can call CPS, sure, but that never works. The only other option is to feel bad for him. The only thing anyone can do for Richie is stare at him, pitiful and sad.  _ “I’m sorry,”  _ they’ll say,  _ “I wish there was something I could do.” _

But they don’t, not really. They don’t wish there was something they could do because getting involved is too messy, too uncomfortable. So they look at him sadly with a little frown, a pat on the back. He can’t stand it. 

Stan fully turns toward Richie when he doesn’t give an answer to his questions. Richie is surprised to find he looks mad again.

“I care.” He says, like he’s capable of reading Richie’s mind. He’s beginning to think him and Stan have a telepathic connection, like Charles Xavier. He could see Stan as Charles Xavier, in a futuristic wheelchair with a solemn, wise look on his face. 

He removes himself from his thoughts and Stan comes back into focus. His angry expression hasn’t wavered.

“I know you do.” There’s an automatic sound to his voice. It sounds like it’s coming from a robot, or The Terminator. 

“I don’t think you do.” Stan picks at the splitting wood on the bench. “I care about you, Rich.” Richie picks up on the defensive tone in his voice. There’s an urgency there, like he  _ needs  _ Richie to believe him. He wonders if someone has accused Stan of not caring before. 

“All of us do.” He continues, looking away from Richie again, “We want to hear about what you’re going through, especially Eddie. Eddie loves you so much.”

Richie leans back against the pole that holds up the awning. He doesn’t deserve good friends, not a single one of them. How did he end up with six?

“Do you not love him back?” Stan’s curls blow in the wind. He’s looking Richie up and down like a puzzle or crossword.

“I…” Richie hisses at nothing in particular, sucking in air between his teeth and breathing out loudly, “I love him so much, more than you could know.”

Stan kind of chuckles and shakes his head. “‘ _ More than I could know?’ _ Richie, what do you think we’re talking about?”

Richie is confused, they meet each others eyes. Stan has a fond smile on his face, albeit he still looks fairly grumpy. That must just be how he looks all the time, a permanent state of annoyance.

“If there was an award for the dumbest couple, you and Eddie would win every single time.” Stan sighs when Richie still looks confused, “He  _ loves  _ you. You  _ love  _ him. Get married and call it a day.”

Richie’s head spins. The welt on his face calls his attention, stinging loudly. He doesn’t think he has the energy to cry anymore.

“Stan. Stan, do  _ not _ be fucking stupid. He’s not in love with me. That’s not how this works. I’m...I’m  _ Richie _ -”

“Trust me,” Stan cuts him off, coming to a stand, “I don’t get it either. You’re a pain in the ass, annoying as all getout, but he loves you. So shut up and deal with it.”

Stan is smiling at him sweetly. The curly-headed bird nerd who rarely shows affection awkwardly hugs him again. Richie is  _ so  _ lucky to have Stan, he needs to buy him the nicest bird book he can find. The Bible of all bird books.

“I have to go, Rich. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Just as quickly as he came, he’s gone. Richie thinks about what he said for a long time on his patio. He shakes in the cold but his needs are swallowed by his thoughts.

Fifteen minutes later, he moves for the first time since Stan left. His window mirrors his movements, showing him the outline of a teenage boy in a t-shirt far too big for his thin body. He’s skeletal, zombie-like. His face is swollen in multiple different places, contorted. His eyes bug out from behind his glasses like balloons ready to burst, bloodshot and tired. He looks like a mythical creature that’s escaped from a nearby sewer. 

He shakes his head, heading inside. Stan was wrong. 

The way rumors wind through the halls of a high school is otherworldly. Adults like to pretend that once you escape high school, gossiping and secrets disappear, that nobody talks about people behind their back. That’s not the truth, of course, but there’s something about pushing hundreds of teenagers who all hate each other into one building that adds some extra, alien element to gossip. 

It started with the janitor, Richie later learns. The janitor walked in that night, left his wallet or something, maybe. He saw Richie standing there alone, admiring the work that had been done. The janitor had a daughter who goes to school there and he told her what he’d seen in passing. Richie unluckily has identifiable features, making it easy to find out who the janitor was talking about when he said  _ “wild hair, a pointed nose, and huge, magnified glasses”.  _ It went from the Sophomore class to the Junior class, from Miss Flippin’s science class to Mr. Jone’s art class, straight through Andy Levitt’s mouth. He had been telling the story to a friend, but Eddie overheard:

Richie Tozier spray-painted a pink, Nazi triangle onto Eddie Kaspbrak’s locker.

It’s the seventh period, the last period of the day, when Eddie finds out. He hasn’t spoken to Richie in three days, effectively ending most of Richie’s communication with the other losers. Bev and Stan have both tried to tell him how dumb this is, and he’s sure that Mike or Bill have been saying the same things to Eddie during lunch. Richie is alone again for the first time since Sophomore year. He eats lunch at a table by himself, goes to and from classes by himself, and exists painfully, entirely by himself. 

The first time Eddie makes eye contact with him since their fight is when he’s pushing him,  _ hard  _ against the exterior brick wall of the school. His back hits the stone with an ugly slapping noise. The rough edges of the bricks scratch his lower back where his shirt has risen up. 

“It was  _ you _ ?” No one seems to notice the commotion. The life is draining out of the school quickly like blood from a wound, cars firing up and taking off, chatter quieting. 

Eddie’s breathing is ragged, he’s crying. Richie can’t help but notice how beautiful his eyes look all red like that. The golden color of them shines among the angry red lines. He can’t help the way his hands instinctively reach out to wipe at the tears. They stop halfway there, like a cord dangling from a plug, seeking out a connection.

“What was me?” He asks Eddie, and he can’t believe how good it feels to talk to him, even with the seriousness of the conversation.

“The fucking locker! You spray-painted that shit on my locker!” Richie’s heart stops thrumming in his ears. All sound disappears, blood drains from his body. He’s colder than he already was in the December air. His tongue feels like a foreign object in his mouth and he’s attempting to form words around the intrusion. Eddie starts crying harder. Richie numbly notes that nobody is around anymore, it’s just them now. He wants to forget everything and hug Eddie like they’re the only people in the world. But he can’t forget, Eddie won’t let him.

“I-I didn’t-”

“Bullshit! Everyone knows! Everyone knows but me! Do you know how fucking embarrassing it was to find out from  _ Andy Levitt  _ of all people? That my best friend spray-painted a fucking homophobic, Nazi, concentration camp symbol on my locker?” Eddie is spitting every word, voice nearly screaming. Richie’s eyes are stinging but he won’t let the tears fall, “And what? You felt guilty so you helped me paint over it? Is this a game to you? Am  _ I _ a fucking game to you, Richie? All the goddamn flirting, the teasing, the looks. Is this just your way of resolving your guilty conscience?”

Richie is drowning. He can’t even see Eddie through the tears in his eyes. The window of an empty classroom stands behind Eddie, reflecting the image of themselves. Richie is small, shrinking against the layer of brick. He looks tired, lonely, and needy. He hates the way he looks, wants to throw a rock through the window.

“It wasn’t me, Eds. He- It was- I was just there. With Vic and Bowers, I mean. I didn’t even know it was your locker, I didn’t even know what they were planning on writing. You’re  _ not  _ a game to me, Eddie. I’m just fucking stupid.”

Eddie blinks up at him, the tears have stopped falling. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Guilt runs over his features and he sniffs quietly. He steps towards Richie, but Richie slides along the wall, away from him. He doesn’t know how to function like a person anymore. Once the rubber band snaps, people never come back. They’ve learned their lesson, they won’t stick their hand back into the fire. Eddie is here, hand hovering above the fire, apologizing to him.

“Leave, Eddie. This is fucking stupid. Leave me alone.” He sounds crazy, he realizes. He’s like a broken thermometer, temperature rising up and down.

“Why do you always push me away?” Eddie is crying again, angrily brushing away the tears that fall down his cheeks. “Why don’t you trust me?”

That’s when the dam breaks and Richie curls in on himself.

“Because you’re going to leave!” He hates the way Eddie recoils from him, but it only punctuates his point, “You’re going to leave and I think I’ll die if I open up to you and you leave me! It’s better if I push you away before it happens and keep you at a safe distance.”

_ Snap.  _ Richie’s rubber band snaps with a pop he can feel so deep within his chest it pushes a sob out of him.

“Then at least I can tell myself that you didn’t leave  _ me  _ you left what you  _ thought _ was me.” He can’t look at Eddie anymore. He tugs on his hair and watches his shoes as the tears run down his nose.  _ Tap, tap, tap, _ they say, landing on the toe of the converse.

Much to his surprise, warm arms close around his torso, a head of brown hair landing against his chest. Eddie is laughing, but it’s not a real laugh. It’s a quiet, mournful noise, like he’s in disbelief that there were this many thoughts swirling around in Richie’s head. Richie lets himself untangle his hands from his hair and wrap them around Eddie, pressing his nose into the hair. 

“You mean so much to me.” He finds himself whispering into Eddie’s hair, “You’re so beautiful and smart and snippy. I can’t stop thinking about you, ever, even when I go to sleep. It’s so stupid but when I’m scared I swear I can hear your voice telling me it’s going to be okay, that if I just breathe I’ll be okay.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything back, just moves his head so he’s looking up at him. His hair is messy now, falling into his eyes, and he has this look on his face that Richie has never seen before. He moves closer to his face, and Richie pulls his head back to see him better.

“Richie,” he whispers, pink lips forming around the word like it’s new to him, “I’m trying to kiss you, idiot. Stop moving.”

“Oh.” Richie says dumbly. He ducks down towards Eddie’s face, stilling just before their lips connect. He’s terrified, but he thinks Eddie might be too. They look at each other for a long time, memorizing the face before them, until Eddie finally presses up against him. He watches Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, eyelashes casting pretty shadows on his cheek. He mimics the action and lets himself feel the way Eddie’s hands tighten on his hips. His heart thunders in his chest. Everything he’s wanted for the past three months is here, kissing him and holding onto him and smiling. He can’t help how he breaks into a grin, effectively ending their kiss.

“I am so head over heels for you, Spaghetti.” He never wants the smile that Eddie gives him to end. He wants to spend the rest of his life making up dumb nicknames and stupid jokes and paying him sweet compliments just so he can see it again. He’s glad he doesn’t have a ring on him, because he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from dropping down on one knee right now.

_ No, not now,  _ he thinks,  _ but sometime very, very soon. _

Eddie sneaks in through his window a few weeks later, even though Richie told him he really doesn’t need to.  _ ‘It’s more romantic that way’  _ Eddie had told him, and Richie couldn’t argue with that. 

Richie still had to get used to this foreign type of attention: the way Eddie tackled him to the bed, laid on top of him while they both napped, and all the different kinds of kisses. He won’t ever get used to the kissing, probably, not with how good Eddie is at it. 

“You’re so pretty, Eds.” He says, like he doesn’t tell him every five minutes. They’re both sitting on the bed cross legged, talking about aliens or video games or something. Eddie stops what he was saying to acknowledge the compliment with a blush.

“You know, you’re pretty too, ‘Chee.” Richie adores the way he’s smiling at him, like he’s admiring a painting in a museum. Richie shrugs at the compliment and smiles back.

“I’m okay.” He says, ready to move on with the conversation.

Eddie sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re so fucking dumb, Richie.”

Richie makes a disgruntled noise and shifts towards Eddie, needing to be closer. 

“You think I don’t think those same things about you? Jesus, Rich. You’re so dumb.” His face softens then, and he lifts a hand to card through Richie’s hair. His fingers get stuck in a knot so he trails them down to rub the pad of his thumb along his freckles. 

“ _ Richie. _ ” He says so gently that Richie thinks he might cry, “Do you not realize what a fucking catch you are?”

The taller boy cracks a smile then but Eddie frowns deeply, unsatisfied. He pushes Richie back against the bed and he lands with an  _ oof!  _ Eddie sits next to his hip, legs curled to the side.

“Whatcha doin’, Eds?” He smiles genuinely this time, happy to be close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of his body.

“Shut the fuck up.” Eddie rudely tells him. The kiss he presses to his nose directly contradicts his tone. “I love your nose so much.”

Richie runs his fingers over the spot he just kissed, “This ol’ beak?”

Eddie bats his hand away from his face, seeming to change his mind halfway through, and takes the offending hand into his own. He kisses every knuckle. “I love your hands. Who knew hands could be so sexy?” 

Richie’s cheeks turn cherry red, judging by the heat he can feel in his face. He goes from relaxed to shy and embarrassed in an instant. This only seems to spur Eddie on. He uses his thumb to brush across Richie’s lips.

“I  _ love  _ your lips.” Richie is wriggling around like a little kid on Christmas in response to all the sweet touches. He squeezes Eddie’s hand that’s still holding his own. Eddie squeezes back.

“You’re gonna kiss everything else but not my lips?” He pouts, lip jutting out against the thumb resting on it. Eddie rolls his eyes but leans in and kisses him deeply. When he pulls back he rests his free hand against Richie’s stomach. He wants to say something else, “Anything...else you like about me?”

In any other situation, this might have been a flirtatious remark accompanied by a wiggle of his eyebrows. This time, it’s not. He feels exposed, cut open for Eddie to see. He wants to be open with him, hates that he’s spent so much time holding back. Eddie inhales sharply like he wasn’t expecting Richie to want him to continue.

“Oh my  _ god,  _ Richie,  _ everything _ .” He shifts until he’s lying on his side next to Richie, elbow propping his head up. He slides his hand back and forth over his chest, occasionally playing with the collar of Richie’s shirt. “I love your freckles and your hair and your voice-  _ ugh,  _ your voice- and your laugh and smile and stupid jokes that always cheer me up. I love the way you’re always looking out for me and our friends, even though you try to pretend like you’re too cool to care about that stuff. I love how you look at me when you think I can’t see you. I love how fucking  _ brave  _ you are. I love  _ you _ .”

Richie and Eddie are both silent for a long time, staring at each other with wide eyes. He fights against his instincts that are stupidly screaming at him to bolt and never look back. Once he pushes past the fight or flight mode, he allows himself to settle into the moment. He can’t remember the last time someone told him they loved him. Maybe never. Eddie stops looking at him, instead laying down on his back.

“It’s okay, Richie. You don’t have to say it back, I understand.” Richie feels his heart swell in his chest, tears springing up into his eyes. Never in his life has he felt so loved. 

“Oh, baby.” He says, rolling over and swooping down for a sweet kiss. He tugs Eddie closer, separating from the kiss to wrap him in a hug that is bone-crushing. “I love you too, Eds, more than anything in this big, stupid world.”

When he pulls back from the hug, Eddie wipes the tears off of Richie’s cheeks without a word. It’s then that Richie catches their reflection in the floor length mirror across the room. Most of his own body is hidden behind Eddie’s, legs entwined. He barely recognizes himself. All of his curls fall in loose, messy rings around his face and his glasses have slid almost entirely off of his nose. He’s  _ still  _ smiling, which he hadn’t even realized. His cheeks are red, his eyes are dazed, glowing. He looks...beautiful. Like he was created just to be in this moment. Like a photograph. Tears prick at the back of his eyes for the second time that evening. 

“Baby? What’s wrong, ‘Chee?” Big, honey-glazed eyes are looking up at him. His lips are caught in an involuntary frown, eyebrows drawn together. Richie faintly feels his thumb rubbing circles into his hip. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. It’s hoarse, like it’s been overused. 

“Sorry for what?” Eddie moves his hand to play with his curls, giving Richie chills.

“Sorry that I didn’t love you sooner.” He pulls Eddie in for another hug, smushing his face into his neck. Eddie laughs, a breathless, beautiful thing. He presses kisses to the side of Richie’s face over and over, telling him how much he loves him and how lucky he is to have him. For the first time in his life, he feels like he is something to behold. He’s not a nuisance, a disaster, an asshole, a coward. He’s not difficult or stupid or too much work. He’s Richie Tozier, and that’s a good thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much if you read the whole way through this, it means so much. This piece was so insanely important to me, as someone who relates to Richie’s character very much. This doubled as a character study and self-exploration, and ended up being something I’m 90% happy with, which is 80% more than I am usually with my other works.


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